


Factor of Safety

by Bettybot (Lizbettywrites)



Series: The Ways They Said "I Love You" [10]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-21
Updated: 2018-05-18
Packaged: 2018-11-03 03:07:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10958373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lizbettywrites/pseuds/Bettybot
Summary: The mines are no place to form an attachment.





	1. Muffled, from the other side of the door

“—and in such a society, fear is propagated through tales of failed excursions outside of the status quo…” Megatron trailed off, fingers stilling on his datapad. His face scrunched up in that expression he always made when losing his train of thought. “Scrap.”

Terminus smiled at his young friend’s impatience. “Your thoughts are getting too far ahead of your hands. Slow down. Offer examples. Make your argument clearer.”

Megatron brightened. “Of course! Thank you, Terminus.”

He bent to begin writing again. Terminus closed his eyes and listened as the words began to flow once more. Megatron had a voice well suited for reading aloud, be it poetry or his manifesto-in-progress. Perhaps someday that voice would be used to give speeches, to lead the masses in person on the road to freedom. The mines were a waste of his potential.

Terminus was startled from his rumination by the bell that signaled the start of the next shift. Megatron ceased writing and shut off his datapad to stow away under his berth. He looked to Terminus with a conflicted expression.

“Will you be all right here by yourself?”

“As always,” Terminus reassured him, knowing what was meant.

Megatron opened his mouth as if to say something else, then shut it and nodded uncertainly.

Once the door had closed behind him, Terminus responded to the unspoken statement. “And I you, young one.”

As much affection as he held for his charge, it worried Terminus that his sentiment was reciprocated so strongly. It was clear by now that Megatron would not take his inevitable passing well, and how long could an old miner, one with both legs in the Allspark, no less, well… how long could he possibly last?


	2. As a hello

_At times like this, alone in the dark, left to plan with only his thirst for justice as company, Terminus often thought back to the day that particular batch of newbuilds came under his watch._

The younglings’ first shift nearly dropped them, and Terminus was loath to reassure them that the work would get easier. He settled for announcing that they would get stronger with practice. It wasn’t entirely a lie—they would get used to the strain and adapt—but today’s observations were clear indicators of which “recruits” would last the longest.

Upon reaching the nearly-barren mess hall, the newbuilds huddled with their tiny rations in a group. They would learn soon enough that numbers were no guarantee of safety down here.

One youngling, however, sat off to the side. He’d barely touched his cube, instead staring straight ahead, His mouth moved slowly. Terminus could almost see his processor working through the day’s events.

Beside him, the guard on duty barked a laugh. “That one won’t make it more than a few more days—he looks defective.”

“No,” Terminus corrected him, smiling slightly. “He looks like a thinker.”

The guard huffed. “That ain’t gonna help him in the mines. Little lugnut’s good as gone.”

He left the guard’s side. D-16, as his ID code supplied, looked up as he approached. Terminus crouched beside him.

“Sir,” the newbuild began, “I don’t understand something. If we’re just doing what we’re supposed to do, then… well, why are there so many guards and cameras? Is someone worried that we’ll stop? And if we’re made for this, then why doesn’t it feel right?”

Oh, this one was on the right track. “That’s an excellent question,” Terminus replied, “and more impactful when you’ve reasoned out the answer yourself.” He tapped the abandoned ration cube. “Drink up. You won’t get another chance to fuel until after the next work shift: you’ll need every drop to make it that long.”

Judging by D-16’s face, the gears were turning faster. Excellent. He just needed a little guidance.

“Incidentally,” Terminus continued, “after this, you’ll all have to scramble to claim berths in the living quarters. You’re welcome to claim the spare in mine.”

“I—Thank you, sir.”

“It’s Terminus to you, young one.”

“But your code says—”

“I know what it says. And I know what yours says.” Just a little prod in the right direction… “But I think I ought to know my own name. I picked it myself, after all.”

“You can do that?”

“Management doesn’t care what we call ourselves. We aren’t mechs to them—but we can be to one another.”

D-16’s expression turned bashful. “Will you use my name, too?”

“If you tell me to.”

The youngling smiled at him—the first smile of his life, Terminus liked to think. “Then call me Megatron.”

Yes. This one was perfect.


	3. In a blissful sigh as you fall asleep

Megatron descended from the hill after an hour, his EM field pulsing with a lightness that Terminus had not felt from him since before his disappearance. His pace slowed as he passed by the mech on watch—a surprisingly cheery empurata victim with a rust-colored paintjob, one Terminus would be keeping an optic on—and met Terminus in the covered entryway.

“Did you get the answer you hoped for?” Terminus queried innocently.

Megatron beamed at him, at the same time projecting an impossible melancholy. “I got the answer I dared not hope for, old friend.” He inclined his helm to their guard. “Thank you for your diligence, Damus. Remember to trade off your shift.”

“Yes, sir!” Damus—that was not the name Terminus had heard in use, but Megatron had made the rounds tonight and it was reasonable to expect a few conversations had been held without him present—saluted and turned to face the outside once more.

Terminus set a hand on Megatron’s shoulder, feeling a touch of relief when his friend just barely leaned into the contact. Whatever he had found to aid their struggle, he still needed Terminus.

“You should rest now,” he suggested, nudging Megatron through the door and manually sliding it shut behind them.

Inside the bunker, silhouettes of recharging mecha on makeshift berths lined the walls. The darkness was broken only by the few sets of biolights here and there. He brought Megatron to the remaining free berth in a far corner. Two large frames could fit with a little maneuvering. Terminus sat with his back to the wall to give his protégé more room to lie down.

“Your struts...” Megatron protested softly, but he allowed himself to be pulled into a loose embrace.

Terminus hummed in response, cradling the youngling—always a youngling, no matter the years that passed—against his chestplate. “I will be fine, dear one. I’m not as fragile as you remember.” He slotted the recharge cable into Megatron’s helm port and ran a hand over his face as red optics dimmed. “It’s my turn to look after you.”


End file.
